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`-' I N S T A L L M E N T N U M B E R 2 5 4 `-'
S E P T E M B E R 1 4 , 2 0 0 3
B M C , E D I T O R - I N - C H I E F
FEATURED IN THIS INSTALLMENT:
Deer - Melatonin
Quest for Freedom - Komrade B
Beautiful Packaging - Ei'det-ik
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EDITOR'S KNOWTE
This is a wrench. You are not looking at words on a screen, you are
holding a wrench in your hands.
Admire it.
Feel the weight of it.
Imagine yourself tightening a nut with it.
Place it in a toolbox and close the lid firmly.
Imagine the joy with which you will open the lid to discover your
favourite tool, the one that is electronic, the one with words on it.
Guess what! It's not really a wrench, HOMIE! It's A Zine.
HAhHAHAhHAHAhAHhHahAhahaha
Isn't life funny?
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Deer
by Melatonin
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" " " " " " " """"" " " " " " " "
A deer lay severed on the road. A tire split its trunk, black blood
striping highway. Mr. July, a small yellow man in a hat, came down the
green hill over yonder, his lips tonguing a flute. He approached the
wheezing torso and blew an opening note. The deer looked up at him, her
left eye lidded, her right eye black and dripping. Mr. July removed his
spectacles, clouded their lenses with his breath, and dried them on the
elbow of his tweed jacket. "Hello," he said.
A semi blew past in the opposite direction. Grit rose up from the road,
ruminated in the air, and flew into the deer's grimacing teeth.
"I am dying," said the deer.
"I am sorry," said Mr. July.
"It's not your fault," she said. "I was born this way."
Mr. July looked up at the sky. The clouds spun tulips, translucent in the
sun. A mist settled on his brow. A crow smoking leaf, a soft breeze, the
long grey shadow of trees. Mr. July was certain it would rain today.
"But alas, I am not a weatherman," he said, and the deer coughed blood.
"Touch me," she said.
Mr. July looked down. "How's that?" he asked.
"I am dying," said the deer. "Please touch me while I die."
A second passed in slow-motion. An ant stumbled.
"I have time," said Mr. July. And he sat down and set one yellow hand on
the deer's wounded neck, a tender, sticky place where the hair smelled
like fish. He slid his flute into his pocket, where it hummed a jaunty
tune.
Another semi flew by. The road kicked up around them. Broken glass fell
from the sky. Lightning pierced the fields with white strikes and thunder
grumbled underground, a moody afterthought. Warm rain filled the brim of
Mr. July's yellow hat, the dirt on his cheeks ran to his chin, red and
black traffic splashed.
*
Ten minutes later, the deer closed her right eye,
and died.
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Quest for Freedom
by Komrade B
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September 11, 2001
At the mouth of the mighty east river stood a lone figure. Looking
upwards, he fixed his attention on the great city that many had said was
the center of the western world, a new Rome, if you will.
People in the park were dancing and singing, people walked arm in arm with
one another regardless of color, race, religion, or creed. It was a
golden time in what was a golden age. Crime had become non-existent.
Starvation, disease, and reality television were all distant but horrible
memories in the minds of the masses.
It was not always like this. To the being below the water, it seemed like
just yesterday when humans first went to the Moon and met a strange but
seemingly benevolent race of monsters. It was from these monsters that
the gift was offered; their greatest son, Molonious, was bestowed upon the
Earthlings, and it was this Molonious who would carry humankind into a
great age, or so the creatures told Mr. Armstrong.
Molonious was small and jelly-like, but when placed in a glass of water
and left for three weeks, he grew rapidly and began to move. He learned
speech, reading, and writing, all without any tutelage from his
caretakers. Not much was known beyond this until Molonious was in the
public eye a few years later. He ended the cold war with but a single
speech at the United Nations. Humankind tossed away the idea of
patriotism and nationality and the world became one nation with a fusion
of the best ideas of both capitalism and socialism.
From there, Molonious solved all of the ailments of the world. Humans
lived well and happy, and from there they turned their eyes to the sea
and the fierce feudal realm of Atlantis. It is from this Atlantis that
the shadowy figure at the mouth of the river hails.
The Princes of Atlantis were at first very receptive to the words and
offerings of Molonious. It was a chance to end all wars and suffering.
A place where merman, weegie, and octopi could live in harmony. Yes, it
was a good idea for all but one prince, a man that was distrustful of the
so-called benevolent Melonious.
This same prince slew Melonious' diplomats and expelled the supporters of
this surface dictator. For the next 10 years sea and land were at war.
Unfortunately for all creatures that loved the land, they had tossed away
the tools of war and dismissed the idea of combat as silly and outdated.
Luckily for them, the sea creatures, while fierce, would simply die on the
beaches of the world once they had left murky waters of their ocean
homes.
So a stalemate appeared between the combatants, with Molonious suing for
peace and the crowned prince planning for victory. Standing here at the
east river the prince hatched his scheme. He would go back in time, using
the time gate behind the Atlantean throne, to a time before humans had
reached the moon, and from there he would use the moon gate, which was
behind the time gate, which was behind the Atlantean throne. From there
he would slay the moon creatures and remove all evidence of their
existence. The astronauts would find the moon barren and empty, the way
it was meant to be. Earth might still have disease and starvation, but at
least it was honest. Plus with Molonious never to be, society might never
catch on to the mainstream singer/writer female recording artist that this
society loved and the prince despised.
Prince L'Homme exacted his plan. The world became alien-free, and as the
planes slammed into the big buildings on New York, the prince cackled with
glee. The world was a place for the strong to enjoy the riches at the
expense of the weak. This was the way of things. No prince should share
happiness with a commoner. Just then, the prince heard the lilting voice
of Michelle Branch carrying through the water.
"Curses!" the prince thought.
It seems the prince was wrong about one thing, and that was his biggest
beef in the first place.
The End.
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Beautiful Packaging
by Ei'det-ik
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-i-
i like to destroy beautiful packaging.
i used to extract the contents, save and fold disposable image. suckle
from designs of overlapping cubes, of foreign words backed in a lime
shout.
i'd create a museum of that which determines tasteful lifestyle.
i take pleasure in destroying clip-art artifacts of post-kitschy adverts.
spoil excellently subversive art, and the artist whose portfolio laps at
some omnicompany.
as if they have no other choice. or rather, it is the fashionable choice.
as if technology equals a mode to profit and never a means to high art.
-ii-
which of your fingers have you stylized today which eye have you replaced
with venetian blinds have are your children arranged for social currency
and bartered for 19.99 have you animated your organs and sent them into
the consumer grinder
art is potent, but your flesh-for-cash
is wasting like the packaging i love to throw away.
-iii-
but
there is the fact
i do exactly what you do
my left eye on ebay, 2 bids 3 hours remaining my fingers, sold through a
pop-up window
i've reduced my children to 18.99 and my kidney is selling sony's latest
robotic guinea pig
sometimes i destroy my own beautiful packaging.
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copyright 2003 by #254-09/14/03
the neo-comintern
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